Vendetta : Dissolute
by Frogstaff
Summary: One Raven's quest for vengance, except this time a critical look at the justifications a killer uses when he is seeking to avenge a death. Also my entry in the January Writing Challange at www.armoredcoreonline.com.


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Vendetta : Dissolute  
  
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Cristophe knelt in front of the grave markers, carefully setting the bouquet of chrysanthemums in front of one. His brother had always loved 'mums, and had kept a small garden of them, and odd quirk for a man who had prided himself on being one of the most ruthlessly efficient MT pilots in the business.  
  
His father hadn't had any use for flowers. Instead, Cristophe pulled a small bottle of scotch from his pocket. It'd gone to cask two years before the destruction of DOVE, the Controller. It'd been a good year. He cut the seal around the cork with a pocket knife, and poured the bottle into the grass before the marker.  
  
The sun was just above the horizon, and as the shadows lengthened, he ran his fingers over the dates carved into the markers. The dates of birth were of course vastly different. The dates of death were the same day. A wind picked up, and he shivered; the day had been warm and he was only wearing a light jacket. "I'm getting closer," he said softly. "She won't be able to stay ahead of me for much longer. It's only a matter of time, until this affiar is finally brought to a close."  
  
A soft beeping issued from his pocket and he pulled out his datstick, and extended the screen. Everence Grace, his Global Cortex contact, looked up at him. "You've found her?" he demanded before she had a chance to speak.  
  
"Found her." She sounded tired. "She's going to be in the Wasteland the day after tomorrow as part of a Chrome contract. She will be alone."  
  
Cristophe felt his lips pull tight across his teeth in a wolfish grin "You're sure?"  
  
"As sure as I can be. I trust my sources on this one." Her eyes shifted away to something off the screen. "I also spoke with your sister... and your mother."  
  
"Why?" The demand came out harsher than expected. His voice almost cracked.  
  
Everence shrugged. "In a way, this concerns them just as much as you. I thought they might want to hear that you might not be coming back"  
  
Cristophe bit his tongue before the storm of angry words could come spilling out. They'd had this argument before, many times. "If it did, then they would be out here too." He glared down at the markers. "Some family. Those bitches couldn't forget them fast enough. I can't believe they ever cared at all."  
  
Everence sighed. "For what it's worth-"  
  
"Nothing!" Christophe spat angrily.  
  
"- they miss you, and... they wish you luck."  
  
"Luck like that I don't need," he said, and snapped the screen closed, cutting off the call. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Why did no one else seem to understand? Why was it so hard for them to recognize the importance of retribution? He hurled the empty scotch bottle at the ground, watching the shards fly up in a glittering spray. Why was everyone else so blind?  
  
He ran his fingers over the dates in the stone again, and then swore at the streak of crimson he left behind, and the sudden flare of pain in his hand; bits of glass had lodged in the engravings. He held up his hand, carefully extracting the shards of glass from his fingertips, wincing at the pain. Looking at the streaks of blood on the grave marker, he decided that perhaps it was all apropos. "It is a blood vendetta after all," he told the wind.  
  
He shivered again as the breeze turned stiff. It'd taken him six years to get this far, six years of arduous, bitter toil. Six years that he'd spent under the storm, but now he could see the end of the clouds, and the sunlight was rushing towards him. He turned up the collar of his jacket for the little protection it offered, and walked towards the ground car he'd arrived in. The end was in sight, and he had to prepare.  
  
Left alone and exposed on the marker, the chrysanthemums were quickly broken up and scattered by the wind.  
  
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Because of the bandages on their tips, his fingers made a dull thump-thumo- thump sound as he drummed them against the rail. His show of impatience did little to inspire the massive Core assembly frame to move any faster.  
  
He stood on the gantry up above the assembler, watching the Susser Rache take shape below him. He'd spent months working on this design, spending countless hours and credits in tuning its performance to the edge of perfection. If he was going to pull this off, he'd have to hit her hard, and fast.  
  
The Susser Rache's mottled red and black armor seemed to suck in the light, giving the Core a brooding, malevolent air. It was an effect that Cristophe appreciated. It suited his mood, and his mind frame. The effect was slightly abbreviated as the assembler fitted the Karasawa to the Core's right hand – the laser rifle gleamed too brightly, but for anyone who knew what they were looking at, it made the Core's overall appearance all the more dangerous. The assembler fastened a light chain gun on its left shoulder, and a missile pack with relations on the opposit, although the sheer size of the 'sawa made the AC still appear lopsided. He had debated about what to put on the left arm. Using the 'sawa was pushing the frame's weight tolerances to their limit, but he would need every weapon he could carry for this fight. The though of having another gun was reassuring, but it didn't feel... right. This had to end face to face; he wouldn't have anything else. It would end when he drove a laser sword into her Core's cockpit.  
  
He tried to equip the 3551, and started swearing when the assembler balked. The weight of the laser sword pushed the Core well over its weight limit. He downgraded the selection to the Halbred, and the assembler accepted it without problem this time. At least he could still hold onto the fantasy of cleaving through her Core in a single swing.  
  
The assembler finished it job, and it's arms withdrew, letting the Susser Rache stand unobscured in its scaffolding. It's legs seemed almost too small to carry it, the laser rifle making it look like it was about to tip forward at any moment. At 1500 hours tommorrow, he'd meet the Constellation class transport at Vargas airport. He would leap from a height of 37,000 feet above the Wastelands, and upon touching down, he would set up the ambush. Until then, he had nothing to do but wait, and drink.  
  
Five minutes after the second shot, the tension began to drain from his body. A half hour and he sank down to the floor, leaning back against the assembler console. A third of the bottle later, and the constant buzz of hate and fury that usually filled his mind began to fade. After three- quarters of the bottle, he no longer had any desire to move. He was perfectly content to stay right there, and brood.  
  
He had spent six years pursuing this. What was he going to do with it over? The rage and fury had been his constant companion for so long, that he actually found himself fearing being without them. It would be like bidding farewell to an old, dear friend. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, knocking ti softly against the unyielding side of the assembler console. Although he'd frequently though about what it would be like when retribution was finally delivered, he had never gone on to what his life would be life afterwards. He found himself suddenly afraid. He'd been driven by his hatred and rage for so long that they had grown comfortable. They made him who he was. He didn't want to let go of them. A wave of disgust filled him at his moment of weakness. He tilted his head back and raised the bottle, and it was only after a wait of several seconds that he realized it was empty. In a burst of fury he hurled the bottle over the rail of the catwalk, and slammed his head back into the console, his ears ringing from the impact by the time the sound of glass shattering on the distant hanger floor finally reached him.  
  
Disconsolately, he turned his thoughts from the unwanted future to the hated past. Why he was like this now. It was because of family, what it was, what it had been.  
  
Family, family was gone. Another source of his anger. His father and brother had been first. His father had been an AC pilot, his brother flew a heavy assault VTOL. Together they had been one of the deadliest teams in the business. They'd made enemies, and one day when they were out on contract, those enemies had struck.  
  
The survivors said that an AC had been waiting in ambush, and it had struck without warning, going straight for his father and brother. The AC had been had been colored golden and silver, and a female voice had taunted them, just before she killed them. That was all he'd had to start on in the beginning. Everyone had told him to give it up, he wouldn't be able to track the Core down, not with that little to start on.  
  
His mother and sister had been worst of all. They'd barely seemed to grieve, and as quickly as possible got on with their lives. He hadn't even earned his Core rating then; he'd been the runt, not even good enough to polish their armor, the derision had been almost constant. Then they died before he could prove himself.  
  
His mother and sister had begged him to give up piloting, not caring at all about the memory of his father and brother. They refused to see why he had to do, and finally, he had to cut them out of his life completely.  
  
It'd taken him three years to work his way up to where he could take the Raven's entrance test, three years scrounging for every credit, meeting with nothing but frustration in his pursuit. When he'd finally made it into the Global Cortex, it'd been like the gates of Providence opening. Everence had taken him in as her contact, and with her contacts, she accomplished more in a day than he had in three years. The information had still been slow in coming, but during that time he had honed his skills, building a reputation for himself. He became ruthless, merciless, crushing everything that got in the way of his goal. Vengance kept him cold, fury kept him sharp.  
  
And now he had a name, Juliana Versailles, and Spare Change, a place, the wasteland, and a time, soon. The culmination of six years of hard work was at hand. He imagined standing over her burning Core, hearing her cry for mercy, and then placing the 'sawa against the cockpit and pulling the trigger until he burned a hole straight through her Core. With the self- assuredness of inebriation he smiled, letting his eyes drift shut. It would be spectacular.  
  
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Cristophe could feel the fury of the wind, even while sitting in the cockpit of the Susser Rache. Visibility was at almost zero. The transport plane had barely been able to get him to the drop point. Even with the 'improvements' every so often, electro-magnetic discharges would make his radar dissolve into static, and he struggled to keep the slow burn of anger under control. He hadn't come this far only to have the weather fuck him up.  
  
He positioned his Core on a butte overlooking Spare Change's predicted route. He just had to be patient, fate wouldn't dare cheat him of this. He overlinked the missiles and relations. He'd only have a moment of surprise, and dropping an entire pack of missiles on her at once seemed like a good use for it.  
  
Through the static, his radar got a return. She was coming.  
  
Fate was with him, and the wind began to die down. His radar stayed clear, and he stayed still, and quiet, his weapons offline so there was nothing to give away his presence. He watched the blip grow on his radar. He licked his lips, trying to guess the range. The wind dropped even further, and the haze cleared for a moment, and in the distance he caught a glimmer of gold.  
  
The Susser Rache reared to life, the FCS flickering, then getting a solid lock. The Core shuddered as every missile took flight at once, and his radiator shifted up to deal with the influx of heat. Many went skidding off in wild direction, but the rest arced straight towards where he'd seen Spare Change. He blew the empty missile packs and brought up the 'sawa. It had only been a couple of seconds, she would have no idea what was happening yet. He fired three times, then threw his Core into overboost. Her readout on the radar seemed to be standing still, but the wind had risen again with a vengeance, and everything was obscured again. He couldn't even tell if the missiles or 'sawa shots had hit.  
  
He wrapped his fingers around the control stud for the Halbred as he rushed towards the Spare Change's position. She would never know what hit her. Visibility decreased even further. He was going to have to take the swing blind. She didn't seem to be moving at all, and as he raced up on her postion he gave the control stud a savage twist. The Halbred shot out, shining a lurid red as its light reflected off of airborne particles, and he swung it downward in a savage arc, cutting nothing but air. The OB cut off a he whipped around, his eyes searching the murk for some sign of Spare Change. His radar said she was right in front of him, his FCS pulling in a lock as he raised the 'sawa, and held down the trigger. He could see the shots race off into the murk, hitting nothing. He strafed left, keeping the targeting recticle dead center of his lock box, but nothing hit. He dashed forward with the Halbred again, passing directly over where his radar said she was, but again his swing cut through nothing but dust.  
  
He screamed in frustration, spinning in a circle. The haze lifted slightly, and he caught a glint to his left, followed by another. He spun, and his FCS helpfully locked on, drawing his eyes right to the small sphere, drifting slowly as its control jets erratically fired.  
  
A mobile radar dummy.  
  
He leapt into over boost just as a spread of rockets slammed into the ground around him, throwing even more dust into the air. He cut around in a tight turn, his eyes darting back and forth frantically. The dummy was still the only return on his radar, but rockets continued to streak by him, probing the haze. That meant only one thing: Crow.  
  
"Damn it you bitch, come out and fight!"  
  
The rockets stopped, and a voice crackled over his radio, distorted by static. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting her voice to sound like, but it hadn't been this. She sounded tired. "I wondered what your first words would be. Six years and that's the best you've got? That's pathetic."  
  
Cristophe snarled. He should've known she was going to try and play games with him. "I'll think of something witty to write on your tombstone."  
  
She sighed. Cristophe caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned all he saw was the haze. "It seems like you talk as well as you shoot. And here I was hoping that after all this time you'd amount to something."  
  
"Like you knew I was coming. I gave you just as much warning as you gave my father and brother. None."  
  
"Who do you think gave Everence the tip that I'd be here?"  
  
Cristophe opened his mouth to retort, to tell her that he wouldn't fall for a trick like that, but she named his contact, and that kind of information was never public. "That bitch! I trusted her! How much did you pay her to give me up, so I know what to take out of her hide when I'm done with you?"  
  
A burst of machine gun fire lanced out of the haze, and Cristophe spun, firing wildly. Then somehow she was already behind him, firing again. He charged blindly, cutting a path with the Halbred, but finding nothing.  
  
"Who do you think was her 'inside source' that kept feeding you all those hints over the years? I knew about you before the Cortex took you in. You weren't exactly subtle sbout what you wanted."  
  
"And now you're here to kill me, like you did my father, my brother? Are the same people paying to kill me that paid you to kill them?" His voice took on a note of pride. "Did I scare the same people that they did?"  
  
"You've made enemies all right. No quarter, no mercy, how many angry little boys do you think you've created, when they hear that you've killed their fathers?"  
  
"It's a dangerous job. They should've known the risks going in."  
  
"I wasn't paid to kill them. The contract was to take out the convey they were escorting. They were on point so I took them on first. They should've known the risks going in."  
  
The wind started to die down again. Cristophe moved the Susser Rache back in slows steps. She had to be close, she had to be near by, somewhere He ground his teeth, pushed to the brink of fury by having his words thrown back at them. "If they want to come after me, fine."  
  
"Will they have to waste six years in doing it too? Six years. You can live a lifetime in that span. You've done nothing with it. You've wasted six years for nothing."  
  
"Vengance isn't nothing!" He shouted so loud that spit struck his viewscreen.  
  
"It's not going to bring anyone back. People die everyday. They are mourned, and then we get on with our lives. You don't waste it brooding for six years."  
  
The haze dropped, and Cristophe could finally see his opponent. He snarled, and overboosted, holding down the 'sawa's trigger. The Spare Change staggered under the blows, but stood its ground, opening fire with its machin gun. Two points of light sprang over its shoulders, and heavy EO blasts rocked the Susser Rache. Warning alarms began to whine as the radiator kicked into overload, but Cristophe didn't waver. Spare Change boosted suddenly forward and before Cristophe could react a blue glow sprang from its arms and it hit the Susser Rache with a slash from its Moonlight that sent the Core tumbling across the ground. Cristophe was slung against his restraints hard, and he was barely able to push his Core back to its feet before rockets began pounding it.  
  
Spare Change was now showing up on his radar, and he strafed sideways, pounding it with the 'sawa. Another EO burst caught him, and to his horror, he readout for the 'sawa went suddenly red. The firing charger had been destroyed. He dropped the now useless rifle.  
  
Spare Change stopped firing. "You could've done something with your life."  
  
"Why do you care?"  
  
"I don't. But I was curious to see why someone would throw their life away for something so pointless."  
  
Cristophe boosted straight for spare change, looking like he was about to start another Halbred attack. At the last second he threw the Susser Rache into a hard overboost left, and moving at full speed, he activated the chain gun nailing Spare Change with a withering amount of fire. Bullets pockmarked its armor, and tore its Crow extensions apart. He'd had to practically sell his soul to get the Op-I, but it'd been worth it. Spare Change finally boosted back out of range, but the damage had been done.  
  
"I would never be able to think of their memory without shame if I didn't take you down. They would've wanted that, they would've demanded that."  
  
"Then they were just as much a dumb asshole as you are."  
  
Cristophe screamed in fury and charged, ignoring the wall of fire that Spare Change threw at him. A rocket tore the chain gun off, and a blast from the EO tore half the armor off his head. He twisted the sword stud, and Susser Rache's left arm drew back, the Halbred springing out. A second later Spare Change extended her Moonlight and the blades crossed, the two Cores crashing up against eachother. Spare Change proved stronger, and threw Susser Rache back. Cristophe snarled and dashed forward again, but Spare Change was even quicker, and the air glowed blue as it sprang forward, its arm whipping down in a diagonal slash.  
  
Susser Rache tumbled, rolling out of control until it slammed up against a boulder. Cristophe tried to push it back to its feet, but then saw the damage readout. The Moonlight had sheared the Core's right leg, and half severed the left. He was immobilized. He couldn't believe it. He'd lost. He'd come his far, only to have fate turn against him at the last moment It wasn't fair.  
  
He heaved the AC over onto its back. Spare Change was coming towards him. All of his ranged weapons were gone, and he couldn't even get an angle to make a last ditch swipe with the Halbred. Spare Change stopped right in front of him, and then powered up the Moonlight, it's arm coming up across its chest. Then it paused.  
  
"What are you waiting for!" shouted Cristophe. It wasn't fair! He was the one who was supposed to be gloating over the victory. It was his right to be making the choice of life or death. He wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of begging though. "Do it you bitch! Do it!"  
  
Spare Change seemed to stare down at him, and then it's arm dropped, the Moonlight powering down. "You wasted your life on this sick fantasy, and I'm not going to gratify you with martyrdom. I'm not going to give you the satisfaction. You're not worth it." The other AC turned and began to walk away.  
  
Cristophe stared in shock, which quickly turned to outrage. "Come back here! You can't do this to me! Damn it! Get back here!"  
  
"Stay out here and die, or don't. It's your choice," Juliana said, and then the Spare Change disappeared into the haze. A last message burst through the static. "Live your life, or waste it as you see fit. I don't care, and I doubt anyone else does either."  
  
Cristophe stared out into the shrieking windstorm for a long time, in too much shock to move. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't the way it was meant to end. "This isn't fair!" he shouted, pounding his fists against the console. "THIS ISN'T FAIR!"  
  
The wind continued to blow. It did not care about the insignificant shouts being cast into it. It had its own matters to attend to.  
  
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**Author Notes*  
  
You'll notice a lot of 'gritty future' stories focus on one young person or another consumed by their quest for vengeance, and it usually glosses over the fact that while they're being cool bad asses, they're cutting quite a swathe through criminals, innocents, whoever gets in their way, but because they're the hero of the story, it's all okay. This is my depiction of what it's really like to devote yourself solely to such a goal. It was also my entry in the Armored Core Online January Writing Challenge, which had the guideline of two bitter enemies had to meet for one final confrontation, but they both still had to be alive at the end.  
  
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End file.
